I went out Tuesday night with my friends. I thought I was in a good mood, so I had some drinks. I know that alcohol is a depressant but 99% of the time, it puts me in an even better mood.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case this time. I was fine until I saw Barbara’s (a much loved coworker/friend of mine) boyfriend at the bar we were at. He was so trashed he could barely form a sentence. See, Barbara is pregnant by this man for the second time and, let’s call him Hector, has barely even been around to help raise her first child who is now three years old. Barbara has told me how Hector stays out all hours of the night and drinks. She told me their car was “stolen” a few months ago, but I suspect he crashed it and totaled it drunk driving. She’s told me that her daughter sometimes even calls him by his first name, because he’s around so little that she forgets Hector is her dad. Barbara has come in before with broken blood vessels in the whites of her eyes, and big bruises blossoming on her arms. I am almost positive that he hurts her when he drinks, but she vehemently denies it every time I bring it up.
I had an alcoholic stepdad in high school, he was never really physically violent, but the emotional and verbal abuse has stayed with me to this day. I am still terrified when people drink too much. I am still terrified when people raise their voice at me, especially when they’re drunk and angry, because it reminds me of my stepdad. It reminds me of hearing yelling and crashing in my mom’s bedroom across the hall, and immediately curling up as small as I could be, scared that he would hurt me. After a while of this and my mom failing at calming him down, she would tell me to pack some clothes and my school books for the next day, and we would drive half an hour to my grandmother’s house to get away. I would always break down crying in school the next day. . . There’s so much more I could say about that, but let’s get back to Barbara.
The point is, that I know what it’s like to have someone close to you an alcoholic. So when I saw him, at a bar at nearly midnight and completely wasted, I got angry. I talked to him for a minute, just to say hello, and he started rambling about how Barbara was texting him and asking where he was. He said he told her that he would be home when he wanted to come home. I pretended to smile and he walked away, and I went back to where my friends were. I didn’t do anything or say anything else, I just watched him making a fool of himself with his friends like he was at a college fraternity party. I thought about Barbara lying awake at home, wondering where her child’s father was and what he was doing. I thought about how he would get home and wake their daughter up with how loud he was. Everything a drunk person does is loud. They don’t realize how much noise they’re making and they’re too wasted to care. I wondered if they would argue and if their daughter would hear. Mostly, however, I thought about hurting him.
I am very anti-violence. I’m not desensitized to it like most of the world is today. So, I literally almost never have thoughts of hurting someone else.. unless they hurt someone I care about. Me and Barbara aren’t necessarily friends. We don’t really talk outside of work. She’s in her early thirties and I’m in my early twenties. But God, I care about her, as I do all my coworkers in my small workplace. I know that Hector is the only thing holding her back from living her life. I know she wants her children to have a father in their lives, but I wish she could see that he isn’t worth the pain he puts her through. I know she could find someone that actually cares about her and who could help take care of her kids. If not, I know she could do it by herself. I know she wants to go back to school and to get a real job, and I wish she would just live her life and her dreams. I wish I could make Hector disappear. Not literally, I wouldn’t actually go through with hurting him, I just wish that I could free her from him.
Anyway, after seeing Hector, my thoughts and my mood just kept spiraling. I started to think again. Think about the gun in my car. The pills I could take when I got home. If I could find something sharp enough in the bar to slit my wrists. I tried again to reach out to isaiah. I texted him while we at the bar. He was with us, but I didn’t want to make a scene or talk about these things out loud. I told him that I was hurting myself again and that I felt like no one was there for me. I told him I wanted to die. He said “We are here for you” but didn’t elaborate. He didn’t tell me that everything was going to be okay. He really seemed completely indifferent about everything. Which just proved my theory. He’s my friend when I want to hang out but not when I need someone to be there for me. I thought he cared about me more than that. He didn’t come over and give me a hug. Nothing. I really needed a fucking hug.
Heres something I typed on my phone after that:
How long until they notice that I’m here in body but not in spirit?
They won’t notice.
Why don’t they care? I would do anything for any of them. They deserve to laugh. They deserve to live. I want them to grow old and have children. I want them to be happy.
I want to be happy, but the fact is, I don’t belong here. I don’t belong with these people. Humans are disgusting and vile and selfish.
If only I had something sharp.
Why do I fight it? I’m losing. I’ve been losing for 10 years. I’ve just been too scared to admit it. If I had the tools right now.. a blade.. pills.. my gun.. it would be over.
I’m about to go hug my friends. They won’t know it, but the hug will be a goodbye. A thank you for even pretending to care.
Im walking around outside the bar. Pretending people give a shit. There’s a group of guys outside. Three or four. I keep hoping they will find me and take me. Hurt me, kill me, whatever.
Sure enough. I ended up outside the bar. Alone. In the middle of the night. Walking around. Waiting for something to happen to me. Nothing did. The group of guys ignored me. I kept walking. Testing my luck and going further and further away from the bar. Eventually Dylan came out and got me. Everyone was ready to leave anyway. We gave Isaiah and another friend a ride home. On the way, I googled how many of my antidepressant it would take to kill me.
I pretty much just passed out and went to sleep when we got home.
But that’s where I’m at right now mentally. Alone and losing this battle. Sorry this was so long.